


Decus et Brutum

by lightning_shaped_scars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beast!Harry, Beauty and the Beast AU, Bottom Draco, Dark Harry, Harry Potter Universe, M/M, Oral Sex, To a point, Top Harry, beauty and the beast plotline, beauty!draco, brutum, darker take on beauty and the beast, decus, fairytale, french-speaking Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightning_shaped_scars/pseuds/lightning_shaped_scars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter universe with a beauty and the beast plot. Come on you know you crave it.</p><p>Follows Disney's inspired Beauty and the Beast. This was intended to be a Crack!Fic and then became a little intense.</p><p>~<br/><i>Ron gazed at the stalking boy. “Uh, Harry… have you thought that, maybe, this guy could be the one to break the curse?”</i><br/><i>“Of course I have,” Harry hissed with irritation. “I’m no fool.”</i><br/><i>“Good!” Ron beamed. “You fall in love with him, he falls in love with you and poof! We’ll be human again by midnight!”</i><br/><i>Hermione sighed. “It’s not that easy, Ronald,” the teapot disagreed. “These things take time.”</i><br/><i>Ron pulled a face. “But, Mione, the wand has already begun to flake!”</i><br/><i>The brunet gave a sudden exasperated snarl, shoving his hands through his hair. “It’s no use,” he grunted. “He’s so beautiful, and I’m so… well look at me!”</i><br/>~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_December, 14 th _

 

“Welcome home, my darling!”

Draco’s mother’s greeting was as warm as he remembered, her arms embracing him tightly as soon as he’d stepped over the threshold of the manor.

“Hello, mother,” he greeted with a gentle smile, hugging her back. “Where’s father?”

“Downstairs, tinkering away with yet another artefact,” Narcissa replied, her warm smile falling slightly. “The Dark Lord has become rather… impatient.”

Ah yes. The Dark Lord. Draco had heard his parents mention this wizard’s name multiple times throughout his life, and always with the same hushed, frightened awe. On purpose or not, Draco’s parents had yet to introduce him to this so called Dark Lord. He had spent most of the past ten years living in France after his parents had made the decision to send him to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts.

 _Good thing too…_ Draco thought musingly, _considering what happened to the Scottish school…_

After falling in love with the Mediterranean milieu of southern France, Draco had made the choice to remain, purchasing himself a penthouse in Perpignan, where he had been living ever since his graduation three years prior.

“He—he will be summoning you this evening,” Draco’s mother continued, somewhat hesitantly. “I believe he is... quite curious to meet you.”

Draco’s pale eyebrow rose. “Why me?” he found himself asking.

“Your father has been rather boastful about your accomplishments at Beauxbatons. It seems the Dark Lord would like to meet the young man behind the glamour.”

Draco eyed the woman before him carefully. She seemed strained as she spoke and he wondered briefly just what type of man this ‘Dark Lord’ was to strike such weariness into his usually resilient mother.

“If he calls, I will go,” Draco stated, glancing down at his trunk which still hovered patiently at his side. “Please excuse me, mother, I will retreat to my room now and… get settled.”

Narcissa allowed her son to pass, concern on her face as she watched him climb the stairs.

Draco found himself staring aimlessly at the accustomed decorum of the manor. Everything here felt stale; overused. He figured that was most likely the reason behind his choice to remain in France. A new home to call his own—not the same manor that had been handed down through each generation of Malfoys. There were too many rules here. Too many constant, unchanging qualities.

The blond sighed. _There must be more than this provincial life…_ he thought morosely, following the familiar path to his bedroom.

* * *

True to his mother’s word, a summons for Draco came at precisely five o’clock that evening. He was startled from his thoughts— _ah yes, this is where she meets Prince Charming, but of course she won’t discover that until chapter three—_ as a loud crack echoed around the room. With a sigh, Draco place aside the novel he had been reading and turned his attention to the house elf that stood waiting obediently, large bulbous eyes staring imploringly.

“The Dark Lord is being here and is calling you, Master Draco. Is you be comings?”

The blond stood gracefully from his chair, smoothing down his robes. “Yes, Tinky, please tell the Dark Lord that I will be right down.”

“He will be receivings you in the west drawing room, sir,” the elf squeaked before disappearing with a _crack_.

Draco involuntarily shuddered. He’d always hated the west drawing room. It was filled to the brim with the pelts and the stuffed heads of animals his great-great grandfather had proudly presented after their capture. It seemed only typical the Dark Lord would have commandeered that particular room.

After one last longing look at his favourite book lying open on the table, Draco left the room and made his way downstairs. His legs took him automatically to the location of the west drawing room, something Draco was thankful for since his mind was elsewhere at that given moment. He’d been back for all of six hours and already he yearned for the comfort of his penthouse.

All too soon, Draco found himself outside a pair of large, dark, mahogany doors. He reached for the handle hesitantly, his resolve strengthening as he jutted his chin defiantly.

He entered.

Immediately, the blond’s gaze was drawn to the hideous décor, the many animal heads staring blankly in return. His eyes then travelled to the moving figure that swept across the room.

The Dark Lord was nothing as Draco had imagined. He was tall, easily six foot, with dark luscious brown hair pulled back by a strip of black leather. His body was swathed in black robes that flared behind him as he stalked across the room, giving an air of conceited aloofness. His muddy-red eyes swept the room unimpressively, his gaze landing on Draco who suddenly felt an uneasy jolt in the pit of his stomach.

“Ah, the young Draco Malfoy,” the Dark Lord crooned, a dark smile twisting at his lips. “A pleasure at last to finally meet you.”

Draco fought the sudden disgusting urge to bow and instead inclined his head respectfully.

“My parents have… spoken highly of you,” he said in reply, biting his tongue at the forced compliment. “My lord,” he added after a moment. He glanced to the side at the source of unexpected movement, gaze landing on a familiar face. _Wormtail…_ Draco recalled, remembering the few occasions he had crossed paths with the whimpering man.

“Yes, your parents.” The Dark Lord’s smile widened and Draco concealed a shiver. “Your mother tells me you live in France now. Tell me, Draco, will you be returning here to live in the near future?”

Draco frowned faintly. “I haven’t really given it much thought… my lord.”

“For you see, Draco,” the Dark Lord continued as if the blond hadn’t spoken, “it’s not right for the sole heir of such an important family title to… disregard their duties, as it were.”

Draco fought to keep the frown from his face. _Duties…?_

“Duties that your parents have fulfilled for you for the time being. However, I require… younger blood.”

Wormtail sniggered at Voldemort’s side. Draco felt his blood go cold.

“And what were you considering, my lord?” the blond replied, mouth slightly dry.

Voldemort stared at the young Malfoy, his interest in Draco not going amiss by the blond. “Join me, Draco. If your talents exceed your reputation, then you shall make a fine addition to my side. You belong here with me; it is your responsibility as a Malfoy.”

 _He’s positively primeval_ … Draco thought with mild concern. _No wonder my mother is so perturbed by his presence…_ “I—thank you, my lord, I will give consideration to your proposal,” the blond began, mind whirling quickly to find a reasonable excuse to escape without offending the other male. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I’m afraid that time has gotten away from me. I had promised to assist my father this evening.”

“Your _father?_ ” Wormtail snorted then, “he needs all the help he can get.”

Anger flared within the blond. “Don’t talk about my father that way,” Draco snapped.

“Yes, Wormtail,” Voldemort continued in mild amusement, “don’t talk about Lucius in that manner.” He had kept his gaze on Draco all the while, a deviant smirk curling at his lips. “Very well, Draco, be on your way. I do hope you give— _consideration_ —to my request.”

Concealing yet another shiver, Draco inclined his head once more and removed himself from the room.

* * *

“Fetch Lucius, Wormtail,” Voldemort stated, gazing at the dark red liquid swirling gently in the wineglass.

“Yes, my lord,” the smaller man replied, hurrying from the room.

The Dark Lord took a sip, enjoying the earthy tones of the wine as he contemplated his plan. Draco had certainly captured his attention; Lucius’s stories of the boy had barely done him justice. It was true Voldemort’s interest had been kindled when the older Malfoy had spoken of his son… and yet to see the young blond in person…

The Dark Lord felt an anticipated shiver course through him, a wicked smile curling at his lips. Oh yes, Draco would be his. Such a fine specimen of male would fit exquisitely by his side.

And in his bed.

Images of Draco lying beautiful, pale, and deliciously naked amongst his sheets flooded Voldemort’s mind. His smirk deepened, envisioning the way he would force the young Malfoy to take him, every inch buried inside his tight—

“My lord?”

Voldemort blinked, his gaze sliding to the male standing expectantly in the doorway. He raised a dextrous hand and beckoned the blond into the room. The older Malfoy crossed the room elegantly, sliding smoothly to his knees as he bowed before the Dark Lord, much to the male’s satisfaction.

“The time has come, Lucius,” he said, placing aside his wineglass.

Lucius stared up at Voldemort. “My lord?” he questioned. “Do you mean—?”

“Yes,” Voldemort continued, interrupting the kneeling man. “The end of the curse draws nearer. I require you to go to the castle and report on what you find. I need to know if the boy had been weakened.”

“My Lord, wouldn’t it be prudent—”

“Are you questioning me, Lucius?”

The blond immediately fell silent, bowing his head once more. “My apologies, my lord. I will go the castle as you request.”

“I expect a full report in two days, Lucius,” Voldemort continued, lifting the wineglass back into his hand as he deftly stroked a finger along the smooth stem. “We are very close to winning this battle, we cannot afford any failure.”

“I will not fail you, my lord,” Lucius replied, bowing his head once more.

 “See that you don’t.” The Dark Lord gaze at the older Malfoy, unable to prevent the indulgent smile that appeared on his face. “Your son has made quite an impression on me, Lucius. I believe he will make a fine addition to my… cause.”

“I—I am glad to hear that, my lord…” the male kneeling said after a brief pause.

The Dark Lord watched, amused, at the slight discomfort now present in Lucius’s stiffened posture. He knew the older Malfoy had been hesitant to introduce his son, regardless of the boastful nature of his son’s success over the years. With little doubt, Voldemort knew that in order to lure Draco into his enthral, he would need to remove Lucius’s presence.

“You are dismissed, Lucius,” the Dark Lord announced, eyes now on the red liquid swirling in his glass. “Do not fail me.”

* * *

_December, 15 th _

 

Lucius eyed the rusting gates, wand clenched tightly in his hand. The gate was slightly ajar and even as the blond cast a revealing spell, no further protective wards were exposed. He frowned warily.

 _Perhaps the curse has already been fulfilled…?_ He thought, entering the grounds.

The journey across the school grounds was eerily silent, only the occasional scrape of Lucius’s foot broke the still air. He kept his wand unlit, not wishing to draw any further attention to his presence. Upon reaching the crumbling staircase to the large wooden doors, Lucius cast one last glance around and entered the castle.

It was exceedingly dark.

The air held a musky scent, the evidence of decay and abandonment. Lucius stepped cautiously across the Entrance Hall, contemplating whether it would be safe enough to light his wand. There was no way the blond would be able to navigate the castle in the darkness. To alert anyone of his presence however—

Pain shot up his leg as Lucius’s shin made contact with something hard. He winced, barely holding back his grunt as he reached down to rub the tender area.

Wand light it was then.

“ _Lumos_.”

The beam fell across the offending article. Staring down at it in mild surprise, Lucius was alarmed at the sight of the broken bench. It appeared to be one of the benches from the Great Hall that ran the length of one of the tables. Lucius remembered, from his time at Hogwarts, them being rather heavy and incredibly steadfast. Whoever had done this…

The blond shook himself. _Stop meandering_ … he scolded. He turned, eyes scanning the space before him until his gaze fell upon a familiar staircase. Lucius suspected, with little doubt, that the boy would have retreated to the Gryffindor tower. So that is where the older Malfoy would begin his search. With this thought set resolutely in his mind, Lucius stepped silently across the room and up the staircase. He kept his breathing soft, ears ready to pick up any hint of life.

It took Lucius longer than he had initially believed to get to the upper most tower. Every whisper of a shadow, every hint of a breeze had had the tall blond on alert, his wand raised offensively while his nerves sang and readied himself for the inevitable fight. And yet every time he thought he caught a glimpse of movement nothing followed. No attack, not even a murmur.

_Was the castle truly deserted…?_

Lucius could feel cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He forced himself to calm, releasing a deep breath as he reached the final landing. Moonlight trickled in through the windows, casting eerie pools of light onto the stone floor. The blond stepped carefully, grey eyes sweeping the corridor until he came to the entrance of his desire. However, where once a large portrait had evidently hung, there was nothing but broken bits of frame, dangling precariously around the edge of a large gaping hole of darkness.

Lucius glanced up and down the showed corridor, feeling apprehensive at the ease in which he had made it this far. The castle was large yes, but Lucius knew the boy had not been alone when the curse had hit. Lucius hoped his luck would not give out. He lifted a leg, his entire body leaning forwards as he prepared to step through the gaping hole, when something seized his shoulder in a grip so strong Lucius felt his bones crack. It tore him away from the entrance, Lucius spinning unceremoniously into the awaiting wall, the breath knocked out of him as his eyes quickly scanned the space of the corridor. He felt his breath shudder, his eyes widening as they took in the approaching menacing shadow.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” the shadow snarled, green eyes staring malignantly.

Lucius gaped. He had not expected the sheer amount of power that encircled the dark form. It surrounded them both and the blond was unable to tear his eyes away from the malevolent force.

“What are you staring at?” the shadow hissed.

“I—I—” Lucius stammered. Fear like nothing he’d experienced was growing inside him—not even the Dark Lord instilled terror to this extreme.

“ _Let me guess_ ,” the shadow continued, “you’ve come to stare at the _freak!_ ”

“No! No, I—I meant no harm!” Lucius panicked, turning for an escape.

With surprising speed, the dark figure was there, blocking the blond’s path with a steady growl.

“ _You’re not going anywhere_.”

Hands, strong and powerful, gripped Lucius’s robe, dragging the man forward until the blond was mere inches from the angry, glowing green eyes.

“ _You wanted to be here? Now it is your prison as much as it is mine_.”

“No—no, wait, _please!_ ”

Lucius’s screams echoed through the castle. The desolate building stood silently in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! The reception I receive from the first two chapters I will be posting will influence the decision I make to follow through with this idea so please, please review if you are enjoying it/want more!! Thank you!!


	2. Chapter 2

_December, 16 th _

 

Breakfast that morning was subdued. The obvious lack of Lucius’s presence did not sit well within Draco’s chest, even as his mother attempted to distract him with conversation. Her delicate voice drifted over the blond’s ears as he ate his food, and he paused intermittently to nod in agreement to whatever it was his mother was discussing. When his mother’s voice faltered suddenly however, Draco glanced up in concern. Her eyes were locked on something across the hall and the blond found himself turning to see, his stomach dropping at the sight of the figure lurking in the doorway.

“My—my Lord,” Narcissa stammered. “Did you wish to… join us?” Her offer was weak but Draco groaned silently all the same.

_For the love of Merlin please say no…_

The Dark Lord curled his lips into a smile and he stepped purposely into the room. “I am not here for indulging in food, dear lady. I simply wondered if I may be pardoned to speak with young Mr Malfoy,” he stated. Although eerily polite, the order behind the statement was almost palpable.

Immediately, Narcissa rose to her feet, falling into a slight curtsey even as Draco turned desperate eyes to his mother, silently begging her not to leave.

“Of course, my lord,” she replied. The scrape of her chair echoed in the abruptly tense air, her fading footsteps sending shivers down the blond’s spine as she left the room.

Draco’s mouth went dry.

As the Dark Lord neared, Draco rose to his feet. He met the gaze of the male as Voldemort paused before him, the smile on the Dark Lord’s face growing into something positively wicked.

The blond cleared his throat. “My Lord, what a pleasant… surprise.” Draco forced himself not to choke on the words despite how much his anxiety spiked.

Voldemort chuckled, the deep rumbling chortles making Draco swallow apprehensively. “Isn’t it though?” the Dark Lord practically purred. “Draco, my young boy, do you have any idea how many of my followers would love to be in your position?”

 _Position…?_ “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I don’t understand,” the blond murmured, eyeing Voldemort warily.

The Dark Lord’s muddy-red eyes seem to bore into the blond beauty; it took every ounce of will power Draco had not to flinch from the male’s stare. As the surge of anxiety reared to a shuddering peak, a nasty suspicion began to trickle into Draco’s subconscious.

_Oh dear Merlin… the Dark Lord actually craves me…_

“Then allow me to explain,” Voldemort announced. “This is the day, Draco, that your dreams come true.” The same sickly twisted smile was still on the Dark Lord’s face as he stared at Draco, his eyes unnervingly focussed.

“What do you know of my dreams… my Lord?” Draco found himself asking, unable to look away from the man standing so close.

Long delicate fingers stroked thoughtfully over the Dark Lord’s dark red lips, his head tilting in amusement. “Power… fulfilment… things that I can readily provide should you become my consort.”

Draco blanched.

_Consort…?!_

“After all, I am a man of desirable tastes; my power is unequalled.” The Dark Lord paused, his eyes darkening as his growing arousal became evident. “And to have such a beauty at my side…”

Draco drew in a breath and finally, _finally_ , was able to tear his gaze away from Voldemort’s sinister smile.

“My lord, I—I don’t know what to say,” Draco uttered, stepped away from the table. He tried desperately to put space between him and the Dark Lord, his eyes sweeping the hall somewhat desperately for a means of escape.

“Say you’ll be mine, Draco.”

The blond could practically _feel_ the way in which Voldemort stalked towards him. He concealed yet another shiver, keeping his gaze averted.

“I’m awfully sorry, my Lord,” Draco began, mind scrambling to find the right words as he edged towards the door. “But I—I just don’t deserve you.” He exited the room before the Dark Lord could say anything further and he leant against the closed door, staring wide-eyed at the empty corridor before him.

_Me…? The consort of that boorish fiend…?_

Distracted as he was, Draco did not notice the small figure he brushed past on his escape. Wormtail peered after the blond with intrigue as he attempted to gauge what had occurred between the Dark Lord and the Malfoy heir. The small, quivering man glanced towards the large wooden doors, his curiosity pushing him to brave an audience with his master. Wormtail opened the door a crack and slipped inside, his gaze landing on the Dark Lord. A dark smile had appeared on Voldemort’s face, eyes gleaming with promise.

“H-How did it go, my lord?” Wormtail asked timidly, edging closer.

Voldemort turned his stare to the snivelling man. “I’ll have Draco for my very own, make no mistake about that,” he hissed.

* * *

 

_December, 17 th_

 

Draco woke with a gasp. Vivid images of his lingering nightmare flickered before his eyes, his heart thundering in his chest. Each scene had been worse than the one that preceded it, tormenting Draco’s mind ruthlessly with Voldemort’s ominous promises.

_Consort…_

Raking slightly trembling hands through his silken hair, Draco leant forward, resting his damp forehead on his blanketed knees as he tried to even his breathing. He was thoroughly regretting his decision to spend Christmas with his parents. Of course, no one could not have predicted Draco’s current… problem… but still.

With a groan Draco tossed back the duvet and swung his long legs over the edge of the mattress. The soft silk of his navy pyjamas brushed soothingly across his skin as he headed for the bathroom, the coolness of the tiles a welcome distraction as he took himself through his standard morning routine. He found that he was relying on the practiced movements to get him relieved and cleansed, especially since his mind insisted on being elsewhere. Before he knew it Draco was stepping out of the shower, freshly washed, and towel wrapped loosely around his hips.

The blond headed straight for his wardrobe, eyeing the articles of clothing with minimal excitement. Any appealing outfits he would have been happy to dress in now made him cringe—he did not want to attract anymore of the Dark Lord’s attention than he already had. He settled finally on a set of nondescript charcoal grey robes, matching them with plain pressed pants. Draco was in the process of dressing, his thoughts adrift as his fingers fumbled with his buttons, when there came a knock at his door. Instantly, the blond froze, breath catching in his throat.

“Draco?”

His mother’s voice, although muffled through the wood, was a welcomed sound to hear. Slumping in relief, Draco crossed the carpet, buttoning his robes as he went, before reaching for the handle, a gentle smile on his face.

“Mother, good morni—” Draco faltered. “Mother?”

Narcissa’s cheeks were flushed, dried tear tracks stained her skin. Although her face was tilted downwards, Draco was positive her eyes would have been red.

“Mother? Mother, what’s wrong?” he asked, frowning in concern. “What’s happened?”

Narcissa lifted her head, her face stricken as she stared at her son.

“Your father,” she began, her voice shaking, “your father hasn’t returned. I—I think he’s in trouble.”

“Where did he go?” Draco demanded immediately.

“The Dark Lord sent him to Hogwarts,” Narcissa replied in a whisper. “He was supposed to return no later than this morning. But there’s… there’s been _no word…_ and I can’t—not even the house elves can locate him…”

Draco reached forwards and grasped her shoulders. “Mother, calm down,” he began gently. “It’s alright, we’ll find him.”

“But, the house elves—”

The blond shook his head. “Whatever curse affected Hogwarts evidently interferes with house elf magic. Do not worry, Mother, I will go. I will find him.”

Narcissa’s warm hands came to rest on Draco’s cheeks, her reddened eyes watering once more and making the blue depths of her irises glisten. “Oh, Draco, no, I could not ask you to. We have no idea what might have happened—what dangers might be present!”

“That is of no concern,” the blond replied, frowning. “He is my father for Merlin’s sake. I’m not going to sit by and do nothing.” He softened his expression, not wishing to increase his mother’s distress. “It will be alright, mother. Perhaps there isn’t any danger at all. Maybe he has simply been delayed.”

Despite his reassurances, his mother did not look entirely convinced and if Draco was honest with himself, even he found it hard to truly believe his own words.

“We’ll give him the day,” Draco continued in a soothing murmur. “I realise the Dark Lord requested father to return this morning, however in the off chance that he has been delayed, I do not want to risk jeopardising his mission.” He pulled his mother into an embrace, encircling her thin frame with his arms. She leant against him wearily, a sigh escaping as her body finally began to relax. Nodding, she lifted her head, pulling back enough to gaze up at her son.

“You’re right, it may be nothing,” she replied, voice soft. “I’m sorry, my dragon, my nerves of late have not been terribly good these past few weeks.”

Draco could hear the unspoken reason colouring each word his mother voiced. He bit back his retort and instead tightened his hold.

“I know,” he said in response. “Do not worry, mother. Regardless of what happens, I will find father, alright? I’ll make sure he comes home to you.”

“Thank you, my dragon.”

* * *

 

The moon was high in the sky, darkness shrouding the land by the time Draco arrived at Hogwarts. When his father had not returned to the Manor, Draco had not spared a moment waiting any longer. He had spent most of the day with his mother, keeping her calm as time continued to tick on with no sign of Lucius. When the clock had finally struck five o’clock, Draco had had enough.

Now he was here, his gaze on the deteriorating front gates, and an icy breeze cutting through his warming charm. He fought back a shiver, unsure as to whether he could blame it on the cold or the brief spike of fear that sparked within him as he passed through onto the Hogwarts grounds.

 _Probably both…_ Draco thought wryly.

With the moon so bright overheard, Draco forewent lighting his wand; there was no need to draw any unnecessary attention after all. As the blond drew closer, the great castle seemed to loom out of the darkness. Draco craned his neck as his gaze swept across the vast fortress, disbelief appearing on his face.

_Good lord… what on earth had happened here…?_

Draco could feel his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the desolate castle. Large cracks scattered the stone walls, many of the widows shattered beyond repair. And that was just what Draco could see… who knew what awaited inside.

And, _sweet Merlin_ , his father, oh god his father was most likely in there. Where would Draco even start? The castle was impossibly large—there was no way he would be able to locate his father without being detected.

 _Well, you’re not going to find out standing on the front door step_ …

Chided by his own subconscious, Draco gripped his wand, straighten his spine, and entered.

* * *

 

A fire was burning merrily in the grate, warming the small room where a candelabra argued tiredly with a pacing red clock.

“But _no_ , you decided to hide, didn’t you! Leaving _me_ to deal with H—”

“Oh knock it off, Perce,” the flaming candelabra replied with a snort. “By the time I realised there was a man walking around he had already been discovered. I wasn’t about to take the blame for something that wasn’t _my_ fault!”

“Merlin’s beard, Ron, you need to be more aware! The end of the curse is drawing nearer—do you not realise this will be the time that—”

“Father?”

Ron and Percy spun around, jaws slack, in time to see a tall blond male sweep passed the doorway.

“It’s a _boy!_ ” Ron gasped excitedly.

Percy threw his brother a glare. “I _know_ it’s a boy,” he snapped.

“Perce, don’t you get it? He’s the one! The guy we’ve been waiting for!” Ron blabbered, his flames flaring enthusiastically. “He could be the one to break the spell!” The thrilled candelabra jumped down onto the dusty floor, hurrying after the hesitant male as he stepped warily down the corridor.

“Wait a minute!” Percy called, chasing after Ron quickly. By the time he had caught up with his brother, the flaming candelabra had shoved open a door, the hinges creaking and causing Draco to spin around in alarm, eyes searching the shadows nervously.

“Hello?” the blond called, not seeing the small red clock dive behind the door. Instead, his eyes fell onto the faint glow of fire, the light seemingly climbing higher and Draco rushed to the doorway, watching the light disappear up the stairs. “Wait!” he called desperately. “I’m looking for my father!” Draco rushed up the stairs, gaze constantly sweeping the area before him for a sign of life. Instead, the stairs evened out into a cobbled stone landing. Moonlight breached the cracks in the tower roof, streaming in vibrant shafts. It caused the shadows to appear darker than they already were and Draco was finding it hard to spy the supposed source of firelight he had been following.

_That’s funny… I swore I saw…_

“Hello?” he called again tentatively.

“ _Draco?_ ”

The blond’s heart leapt to his throat at the sound of his father’s familiar voice. He crossed the tower in a brisk run, falling to his knees beside the barred iron door.

“Draco! What on earth are you doing here?” Lucius gasped, reaching through the bars to touch his son. “How did you find me?”

“Sweet Merlin, you’re ice cold,” Draco replied, eyes full of worry. “Who did this to you?”

Lucius shook his head desperately. “There’s no time to explain. You need to go— _right now.”_

“I’m not leaving you!”

An iron grip suddenly tore into Draco’s shoulder, thrusting the blond away from the cell. His father’s cries echoed in his ears as he scrambled to his feet, eyes searching the darkness as his heart thundered in his chest, wand gripped tightly in his hand.

“ _What are you doing here_.”

The words were growled, so full of anger that Draco shivered. He tried to find the source of the voice, his eyes finally landing on a dark hidden figure hidden in shadows.

“Who are you?” the blond asked, willing his body to stop trembling.

“The protector of this castle,” the voice hissed.

A pair of electric green eyes suddenly shone out of the darkness. They stared at Draco in an exposing manner, as if stripping the blond of his emotional layers.

“I’ve come for my father, please let him out.” Draco hated the way his voice sounded so vulnerable. “If he stays here he’ll catch his death.”

“Then he shouldn’t have trespassed,” the voice grunted immediately.

Draco’s breath caught in his throat. “ _But he could die_ ,” he replied imploringly. “Please, I’ll do anything!”

A snort echoed around the tower. “There’s nothing you can do,” the voice growled nastily. “He’s my prisoner.” The air around the figure suddenly shifted, the shadow growing smaller as Draco realised the figure was leaving.

“Wait!” Draco exclaimed quickly. He swallowed, glancing at his father before returning his suddenly determined gaze back to the retreating silhouette. “Take—take me instead.”

“ _You_ ,” the voice scoffed, before the entire room seemed to go still. When the voice spoke once more, Draco was astounded to hear the perplexed tone that shadowed each word. “You would… take his place?”

 _“If_ I did,” the blond continued quickly, “would you let him go?”

“Yes,” the shadow hissed, eyes glowing. “But you must promise to stay here forever.”

Draco stared at the silhouette; it seemed to positively ooze with malice. Swallowing, heart beating frantically in his chest, he drew in a deep breath. “Step into the light,” he murmured.

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of his breathing as Draco scrutinised the dark form. Then, will painstakingly purposeful movement, the figure stepped into the moonlight. Draco’s gaze was drawn immediately to the face of the young man—but he was like no young man Draco had ever seen before.

His skin was so pale it was almost white, so translucent it caused the dark coloured veins that spread like vines across the visible skin to stand out strikingly. His black hair was long enough to brush his shoulders, wavy, tangled and ratty, evidence of sheer neglect. Torn, unkempt black robes were draped haphazardly over his shoulders, split open in the middle to reveal dark ripped jeans, boots, and a stained dark red woollen jumper. Draco’s eyes were suddenly drawn to the male’s face where intense emerald eyes analysed him deviously. A wicked, strangely shaped scar caught his attention and Draco felt his stomach plummet.

_Harry Potter._

Draco had grown up hearing the stories about The-Boy-Who-Lived… but he had never imagined that what had happened at Hogwarts had involved _him_.

Potter looked positively lethal. What frightened Draco the most however, was the intensity of the pure energy that seemed to surround the young man. The air positively hummed with the tangible force, causing the hairs on Draco’s skin to stand on end. Forcing himself not to shake, the blond stepped towards the other male.

“You—you have my word.”

“Done,” the male hissed. He passed by Draco who dropped to his knees, the severity of what he had just promised falling like a weight on his shoulders. He felt hands grab him and he turned, staring at his father helplessly.

“No, Draco, _listen_ to me! I’ve lived my life—”

Lucius’s voice instantly ceased as he was yanked away from his son.

“Wait!” Draco gasped.

“No, please, spare my son!” Lucius begged.

“He is no longer your concern,” Potter snarled down at the elder Malfoy.

Before either of the blonds could react, Lucius was suddenly gone, his figure disappearing into thin air. Draco stared at the empty space in horror, misery tearing through his chest.

“Uh, Harry?”

“ _What_ ,” the brunet snarled, glaring down at the candelabra.

“Since this guy is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer him a more… comfortable room?” Ron asked hesitantly.

Potter growled, his magic flaring and causing Ron’s flames to extinguish.

“Then again maybe not,” Ron stammered, backing away.

Potter turned his attention back to the blond-haired male, startled to see the fear emanating from the shaking figure

“You didn’t even let me say goodbye.” Draco trembled, pressing tightly clenched fists to his eyes. “I’m never going to see him again…”

Something woke within Harry, a niggling sense of his forgotten humanity, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, forcing his anger away.

“Well come on then,” Potter said gruffly. “I’ll show you to your room.”

“My—my room?” Draco lowered his hands, glancing around the tower in confusion. “But, I thought—”

“You want to stay in the tower?” Potter growled.

“No.”

“Then follow me.”

 

 

The walk through the dark, eerily silent castle was enough to cause the terror within Draco to grow tenfold. He followed Potter obediently, eyes tracking over the debris that scattered along the corridors. The once, Draco assumed, glorious pictures that lines the walls throughout the castle were now scratched and filthy, many of the occupants running submissively from their frames as the dark-haired male passed them by.

Harry led the young male through Hogwarts silently, his hand gripping Ron tightly. The candelabra switched his gaze from the brunet to the blond trailing behind, a plan forming in his mind.

“You should say something to him,” he murmured, glaring at Harry.

“Hmm? Oh.” Harry glanced over his shoulder. “I… hope you like it here,” he began lamely, glancing back at Ron for approval. Ron motioned for him to continue eagerly. “The castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you wish, except the Gryffindor tower.”

“What’s in the Gryff—?” Draco began.

“It’s forbidden!” Harry abruptly snarled, halting the blond in his tracks. He turned away angrily, his tattered robes swishing out behind him as he continued to stalk down the corridor.

Reluctance to follow the young man coursed through Draco but the fear of Potter’s retribution forced him to move. He trailed after the brunet until he came to a stop at the end of the dank stone corridor, face-to-face with a section of brick wall. Draco frowned faintly before Potter suddenly spoke.

“ _Decus_.”

The stone wall began to slide away, revealing a dark, empty space that seemed to stretch forever. With an absent wave of his hand, Potter lit the torches inside and Draco found himself peering into a large common room of sorts, similar to the one he had belonged to at Beauxbatons. Except everything here was green, black, and silver.

“If you need anything, my friends will assist you,” Potter murmured, gesturing for Draco to enter the room.

The blond stepped forward at the same time Ron hissed into Harry’s ear.

“ _Dinner! Invite him to dinner!_ ”

Gritting his teeth, Harry forced himself to speak. “You… will join me for dinner,” he bit out as Draco turned to face him. A snarl curled at Harry’s upper lip. “That’s not a request!”

The stone wall slammed shut, a cloud of dust billowing into the room. Draco stared at the bricks in overwhelmed astonishment, the terror that had been building within him suddenly erupting. He walked unsteadily to a grime covered leather couch and collapsed onto it, burying his face into his hands as wracking sob after wracking sob decimated his quivering frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! The reception I receive from the first two chapters I will be posting will influence the decision I make to follow through with this idea so please, please review if you are enjoying it/want more!! Thank you!!


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re late, Lucius.”

The tone of the Dark Lord’s voice sent shivers coursing down the blond’s spine. He kept his head bowed respectfully, knowing there was no excuse for his failure that Voldemort would deem acceptable.

“I believe I ordered you to return no later than two days.”

“My lord, please accept my deepest apologies,” Lucius began carefully, keeping his gaze lowered. “There is no excuse for my failure…”

“No, there is not. _Crucio_.”

Lucius’s body instantly lit up, his muscles twitching as a thousand tongues of fire burned him from the inside out. He barely felt his body hit the floor, his limps jerking and throat aching as he contained his screams. Stabbing him like white hot knives the curse surged through Lucius with no mercy, leaving no place untouched, no section of his body spared from the agony. The Dark Lord held him under for a full minute, his annoyance in the older Malfoy’s failure complimented by the mere fact that Draco had yet to accept his gracious offer.

 _But he will… even if I have to force him to…_ Voldemort thought maliciously.

Flicking his wand, the Dark Lord stared impassively down at the trembling blond, watching in mild disgust as his follower attempted to right himself. Falling back into his kneeling position, Lucius tried hard to hide his pain from his facial expressions as he waited for his lord to speak.

“Pray tell, Lucius, why it is you deemed it acceptable to return so late.”

The blond swallowed; his throat continued to ache. “My lord, I—”

His voice faltered.

With a swell of panic, Lucius’s mind remained blank. The once clear memories of his turmoil at—wait, where had he been again? He recalled being sent on a mission… a mission for the Dark Lord. He had been instructed to search the ground of… of Hogwarts? No that couldn’t be right. He could not remember going anywhere _near_ the castle. He recalled leaving the manor with the intent to explore the school… but the next thing Lucius knew, he was entering the front doors of him home, knowing he was required to report to the Dark Lord.

Heart sinking, Lucius felt his throat close up. _There was nothing he could say._

“Do _not_ make me wait, Lucius.” The voice was hissed and the blond felt his body go cold.

“My lord, please forgive me but I—I cannot—” His mind remained blank; a gaping hole where he _knew_ memories should have been. “I fear my—my recollection has been tampered with…”

The elder Malfoy could _feel_ the way the Dark Lord stiffened.

“ _Look at me_ ,” Voldemort suddenly hissed, his lip curling in fury.

Lucius lifted his head and met the burning gaze of the Dark Lord and immediately, the blond felt an immense pressure crowding his mind. Knowing at once what it was his lord was after, Lucius lowered his mental shields, allowing Voldemort full range of his inner most secrets and memories.

Which, of Hogwarts, the Dark Lord found nothing but utter darkness.

With a growl, Voldemort withdrew from Lucius’s mind so forcibly the blond swayed on his knees, his vision swimming.

“The boy is stronger,” the enraged male snarled. “I should have suspected something like this…”

“My lord?” Lucius began carefully.

The dark-haired male suddenly surged to his feet, his robes billowing angrily as he began to pace. Lucius remained where he was, eyes trained on the floor as he listened to the rustle of Voldemort’s movements. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, his heart pounding in his ears.

“It would seem,” the Dark Lord began with a growl, coming to a halt before Lucius, “that the boy has placed a hex over the castle, ensuring that anyone who leaves the grounds does so with no memory of ever being there.” He swore colourfully, settling a sizzling glare on the kneeling form of his follower. “This does not bode well for our plans, Lucius. It would seem we will need to wait until the curse nears its end.”

“The boy, my lord, will he—will his power diminish?” Lucius asked.

There was a moment of silence.

“It is difficult to predict,” the Dark Lord finally uttered, bitterness colouring every word. “There is little I know of the complexity of the curse.”

“But, my lord, you were the one—?”

“I am _aware_ of that,” Voldemort growled. “Do not question me, Lucius!”

The blond flinched, hands trembling slightly in their laid out position on his thighs. His knees were beginning to ache against the hard marble floor but he dared not move an inch, knowing the likely burst of fury to erupt from his lord at the minute show of weakness.

“We will bide our time,” the Dark Lord continued with a sneer. He took a step away from the male to return to his seat, lowering himself smoothly, eyes on Lucius all the while. His long slender legs crossed elegantly and he snapped his fingers, a house elf popping into the room instantaneously. “There is much we will need to know. Without the full knowledge of the curse, it would be redundant to attempt to storm the castle too soon.” He sent the elf off with orders of wine, taking pleasure in the fact that it was coming from Lucius’s private stores. “Until then we will arm ourselves with knowledge and prepare for the destruction of the cursed boy who tried to defeat me.” Drawing in a breath, Voldemort sneered down at the man before him. “You are dismissed, Lucius.”

Gingerly, the blond got to his feet. He ignored the way his limbs shook as he bowed deeply, hating the way he could still feel his lord’s punishment. Backing away respectfully, Lucius retreated to the closed doors, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of the handle. Before he could free himself from the penetrating gaze of the Dark Lord, however, the male spoke.

“Oh, and Lucius?”

The blond turned, the tone of the Dark Lord’s voice setting him on edge. The wicked smile that stretched across Voldemort’s face did nothing to settle his anxiety.

“Draco is a particularly appetising specimen. You should look forward to the day that he joins… our cause.”

The Dark Lord watched the elder Malfoy pale with relish, his sick smile widening as he gestured him to leave.

* * *

 

Draco’s sobs had long since subsided. Although his cheeks were still lined with dry-tear tracks, his breathing had returned to a normal, somewhat calm state. He’d been staring into the fireplace for the past hour, watching the flickering flames he’d cast to help warm the unpleasantly cold room. From his surroundings, he’d gathered that this had been one of the four Hogwarts houses, most likely Slytherin, if the snake decorum was anything to go by. He had yet to search for a bedroom, assuming the old student dorms were up one of the two staircases he could see from his position on the couch. Instead, he’d slowly begun the arduous process of working out what the hell he was going to do now. Here he was, a _prisoner_ for Merlin sake, stuck in a bloody great castle with an unhinged male who just happened to be The-Boy-Who-Lived.

 _Merry fucking Christmas to me…_ the blond thought miserably, fighting off a shiver as the fire fought with the chill of the room.

A knock to the door broke the blond from his thoughts and he looked over to the stone wall warily. He got to his feet as the knocking continued, hesitating beside the bricks.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Hermione!” replied a friendly, feminine voice. “I thought you might like a spot of tea!”

Releasing a sigh, Draco allowed the wall to open, his eyes widening as a tray wheeled inside, a large teapot grinning brightly at him. Behind the tray, a large mahogany wardrobe followed in a bumbling swagger, a wooden face beaming from each door.

“Is everyone here some form of… implement?” Draco asked faintly, feeling rather lightheaded. “I don’t—I… this is impossible.”

“Yes, to a degree.” Hermione smiled soothingly at him, her porcelain face glinting merrily in the firelight.

“And yet here we are.” One of the faces on the wardrobe smirked at him. The other gave a wink.

“George,” said one face.

“Fred,” said the other, both of them staring excitedly at Draco who leant against the wall, the room beginning to spin.

“Come now, come sit down before you faint,” Hermione chided gently, leading the way back to the couch.

The blond did as she said, eyes following the teapot’s movement as she busied herself with pouring some hot liquid into an impatiently waiting teacup who would not take its eyes off him.

“Told you he was handsome, didn’t I, Mione?” the teacup said, eyeing Draco with a grin as he sat back down on the leather couch.

“Alright, Ginny, that’ll do,” Hermione replied. “Slowly now, don’t spill!”

“Uh, thank you?” Draco murmured, taking hold of the handle and lifting the cup awkwardly to his lips. He took a tentative sip before replacing the cup back onto the tray, trying desperately to hide the way his hands shook.

“That was a very brave thing you did,” Hermione said then, observing the blond carefully.

“We all think so,” Fred added, George nodding vigorously in agreement.

Draco stared at them dejectedly, misery welling up inside of him as the gravity of his situation finally hit him. “But I’ve lost my family, my dreams… everything,” he replied morosely.

“Cheer up, love,” Hermione continued gently. “It’ll turn out all right in the end, you’ll see.” She glanced across the room, eyes landing on the tall grandfather clock. “Oh! Look at me, jabbering on when it’s time for dinner preparations! Come along, Gin.”

“Bye!” the teacup called, as the tray began to wheel itself out of the room.

Draco stared after it in bewilderment. _I’ve gone loopy… I must have. There is no way I am currently being held captive in Hogwarts by the Boy-Who-Lived, surrounded by implements that I’m beginning to suspect used to be witches and wizards… no, I’ve definitely lost my mind…_

An excited bark of laughter caught his attention and he swung his focus to the wardrobe.

“Right then!” announced George.

“What shall we dress you in for dinner?” giggled Fred.

The doors to the wardrobe suddenly swung open, various drawers sliding in and out as the twins rummaged energetically through the various articles of clothing.

“Oh, this one, definitely this one,” Fred said, pulling out a glorious set of black robes with silver fastenings and trim.

“You’ll look _ravishing_ ,” George agreed.

Draco forced his throat to unstick as he stared at the garment. “That’s—that’s very kind of you but I’m not going to dinner,” he stated.

The twins gaped.

“But you must!” they replied in unison.

Before the blond could retort, another figure waddled into the room. Looking down, Draco stared, bemused, at the walking red clock.

“ _Ahem, ahem_.” Percy cleared his throat and bowed. “Dinner… is served.”

* * *

 

Harry stalked in an enraged fury before the fire, pacing back and forth as his patience began to dissolve. A table had been set for the two of them in an old classroom that Harry had attuned to appear as a dining room. The Great Hall was simply too large for just the two of them and, despite him being unperturbed by the constant chill of the castle, he knew the blond would appreciate the roaring fire.

“What’s taking so long?” he growled up at Ron and Hermione who sat on the mantel above the hearth. “I told him to come. Why isn’t he here yet?!”

“Try to be patient, Harry,” Hermione insisted carefully. “The poor thing has lost his family and his freedom all in one day.”

Ron gazed at the stalking boy. “Uh, Harry… have you thought that, maybe, this guy could be the one to break the curse?”

“Of course I have,” Harry hissed with irritation. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Good!” Ron beamed. “You fall in love with him, he falls in love with you and _poof_! We’ll be human again by midnight!”

Hermione sighed. “It’s not that easy, Ronald,” the teapot disagreed. “These things take time.”

Ron pulled a face. “But, _Mione_ , the wand has already begun to flake!”

The brunet gave a sudden exasperated snarl, shoving his hands through his hair. “It’s no use,” he grunted. “He’s so beautiful, and I’m so… well _look at me_!”

The candelabra glanced towards Hermione who fixed a glare on the brunet.

“Well!” she huffed, “you can start by making yourself more presentable!” She jumped down to the carpet with a glare, knocking Harry’s ankle angrily with her spout. “Fix your robes! Stand up straight!”

Harry fumbled clumsily with his clothing, a look of uncertainty appearing on his face.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Ron grinned, joining Hermione on the floor. “And when he walks in, don’t forget to smile! Give him a dashing smile, Harry, you know the one!”

“But don’t frighten the poor boy,” Hermione added hastily, knowing how fragile Harry’s patience was.

“Impress him with your good sense of humour!”

“But be gentle.”

“Shower him with compliments!”

“But be sincere!”

“And above all…”

Both Ron and Hermione drew a breath. “You _must_ control your temper!” they exclaimed together, eyeing Harry piercingly.

The sudden creak of a door broke their heated discussion.

“He’s here!” Ron said eagerly.

Harry spun around with a spark of nerves, eyes on the wood as the door swung open. When Draco did not appear, the impulsive nerves died away and his face darkened dramatically.

“Well?” he growled, spying Percy instead. “Where is he?”

“Who? Oh! The lad. Yes, the, well the, ah, lad, actually he’s in the process of—um, circumstances being what they are, he…” Percy’s face fell. “He’s not coming.”

The silence that filled the room was shattered by Harry’s roar.

“ _WHAT!_ ”

The brunet burst out of the old classroom in a whirl of embers and wind, his eyes glowing furiously as he stormed through the castle to the dungeons. The veins beneath his skin grew darker; the entire castle seemed to shudder from his rage.

“Harry! Harry, wait!” Ron cried, the three of them rushing after him.

Upon reaching the hidden door to the Slytherin common room, Harry spat out the password savagely. When the wall did not open, his fury _surged._ His fist began to thunder on the bricks, hammering against them with so much strength that they physically shook.

“ _I thought I told you to come to dinner!_ ” he roared.

Draco’s words were slightly muffled as he replied through the stone. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’ll come out or I’ll—I’ll break down the wall!” Harry snarled.

“Er—Harry, I may be wrong… but I don’t really think that’s the best way to win this guy’s affection,” Ron interjected meekly.

“ _Please!_ Attempt to be a gentleman,” Percy begged.

“But he is being so _difficult_ ,” Harry growled.

“Be gentle, Harry, _gentle_ ,” Hermione murmured encouragingly.

The brunet bit back a snarl. He ran his hands through his hair, willing for patience. “Will you come to dinner?” he managed.

“No.”

The magic around Harry crackled threateningly.

“Calmly,” Percy murmured carefully.

Harry’s hands clenched into fists as he stared furiously at the bricks. “It would give me great _pleasure_ if you would _join me for dinner_.”

Percy cleared his throat. “Please.”

Biting his tongue, Harry’s nostril’s flared with barely retained fury. “ _Please_ ,” he added in a growl.

“No, thank you,” came Draco’s tenacious reply.

Harry’s magic finally erupted, bits of stone exploding into bursts of dust as the torches that lined the corridor flared dangerously in a surge of vibrant flame. “You can’t stay in there forever!” he roared.

“Yes, I can!”

“Fine!” Harry seethed. “Then go ahead and _starve!_ ” He snapped around aggressively, hostile gaze landing on the three objects staring up at him. “If he doesn’t eat with me, then he doesn’t eat _at all!_ ”

Ron, Hermione, and Percy all flinched as Harry stomped passed them. They stared after him miserably, knowing that their chances of breaking the curse had diminished rapidly.

“That didn’t go very well at all,” Hermione commented wretchedly.

Percy straightened pompously. “Ron, stand watch and inform me at once if there is the slightest change,” he ordered.

Ron gave a flaming salute. “You can count on me, Perce!”

* * *

 

Harry entered his room in a flurry of aggression. He stared unseeingly into the darkness, the fury surging through his veins too much to ignore. How _dare_ that boy deny him! Even to go as far as placing a ward to keep him out?!

“I ask nicely, he refuses!” The brunet snarled, kicking an already partly destroyed chair across the scratched wooden floor. It struck the far stone wall with a satisfying _crack_ and Harry had to curve the impulse to continue tearing his room apart. Instead, he marched over to his bedside, where a small table held a mirror and a beautiful crystal case. Enclosed within the case was an unusual wand hovering silently. “What does he _want_ me to do? _BEG?_ ” he finished with a growl. Harry abruptly snatched up the beautifully carved silver mirror, holding it before him. “Show me the boy,” he ordered, teeth bared angrily.

The reflective surface instantly began to ripple, faint, fuzzy images flowing before him until the picture solidified, revealing Draco sitting on the leather couch in the Slytherin common room, Fred and George beside him.

“Harry’s really not so bad once you get to know him,” George’s magically enhanced voice insisted.

“Why don’t you give him a chance?” Fred added.

The blond’s arms were wrapped tightly around his torso. “I don’t _want_ to give him a chance!” Draco replied with revulsion, his voice echoing around the room. “I don’t want to have anything to do with him!”

With a curse, Harry placed the mirror aside, dejection creeping up his spine as he leant heavily on the table.

“I’m just fooling myself,” he growled. “He’ll never see me as anything… but a monster…” He squeezed his eyes shut, the familiar prickle of despondent tears burning behind his eyelids. Inside the crystal case, another piece of flaking wood fell from the wand.

“It’s hopeless,” he breathed in a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! <3 I adore hearing your thoughts and feedback!
> 
> If you or anyone you know can translate English to French PLEASE CONTACT ME! I want to have french-speaking Draco in this fic and I want to make sure it is correct. I do not want to have to rely on Google translate. You guys and Draco deserve better!! Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

The gentle snores of the candelabra broke as Ron gave a snort. He opened his eyes blearily, catching sight of a familiar blond stepping cautiously down the corridor, disappearing up the stone steps. Ron gaped.

“Crap! Percy’s going to kill me,” he groaned, hurrying after the young man.

Upstairs, Hermione and Percy had just finished cleaning up after the failed dinner attempt. The teapot was busy ordering the teacups into place, a sleepy Ginny determined not to get into the cupboard.

“Come on, Gin, it’s time to sleep.”

“But I’m not sleepy,” Ginny yawned, hopping up onto the shelf.

“Yes, you are.” Hermione smiled indulgently, closing the cupboard door.

“No, I’m not,” the teacup mumbled, closing her eyes.

Hermione turned at the clangs of pots and pans, smothering a sigh.

“Harry is going to be in such a foul mood now,” Neville sulked, shifting a pot from burner to burner. The metal doors of his wide oven body clanged open and shut in agitation. “We were so close! But _oh no_ Harry just had to flip his lid, didn’t he? What was he expecting? His prisoner to embrace him with open arms?!”

“Oh, stop moping, Neville, it’s been a long night for all of us,” Hermione replied, casting a tired look to the dying embers of the fire.

Percy scoffed. “Well if you ask me, the lad was just being _stubborn_.” The clock tossed a dirty napkin onto the pile of filthy cloths. “After all, Harry did say please.”

Hermione gave a snort. “Yes, but if Harry doesn’t learn to control his temper, he’ll never break the—”

“ _Splendid_ to see you out and about, young sir!” Percy interjected, spying Draco as he entered the room. “I am Percy, head of— _excuse me_.” Ron batted his brother away, coming to a staggering halt before the blond, waving merrily. Percy sneered. “This is Ron,” he offered.

“Pleasure,” the candelabra grinned, his flames flickering madly.

“Er, hello,” Draco acknowledged uncomfortably.

“If there’s anything we can—Ron, _stop_ waving—that we can do in order to make your stay more comfortable…”

The blond bit his lip. “I am a little hungry,” he admitted, glancing around the room. It looked to be a transfigured classroom. Where a dusty chalkboard lined the wall, cupboards now sat in front, full of utensils and crockery. Desks had been banished to the outskirts of the room, a long table surrounded by chairs now situated in the middle. The blond stared at the table in amazement. It was still placed with two dinner sets; it shocked Draco at the amount of trouble Potter had evidently gone for their failed dinner. The malicious brunet must have been kidding himself—why on earth would Draco want to dine with the very person who was keeping him here?

“Wonderful!”

The teapot’s exclamation drew the blond away from his thoughts. Hermione was beaming.

“You hear that? He’s hungry! Start up the stove, break out the silver, and wake the plates!”

Neville brightened immediately, his burners bursting into life. Percy threw Hermione a cautious glare.

“Remember what Harry said,” he hissed.

“Oh shush,” Hermione snapped. “I’m not going to let this poor boy go hungry.”

“Fine,” Percy huffed, folding his arms. “Glass of water. Crust of bread. And then—”

“Percy, what the hell.” Ron frowned at the clock. “This guy isn’t our prisoner, he’s our _guest_. We should make him feel welcome here.” He turned to the young man, gesturing to the table. “Come sit down.”

Percy glared after them as Draco made his way to the table, taking a seat and looking about in amazement.

“Well, keep it down, alright? If Harry finds out about this, it will be our necks!” Percy hissed.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ron replied, jumping up onto the table top. “What Harry doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He beamed at the blond, gesturing around the room. “This all seems a little crazy I bet.”

Draco stared at the candelabra incredulously. “If _that_ isn’t the understatement of the year,” he commented wryly. His eyes tracked over the movements of the objects, watching as items were placed around him. More candles were set along the table in beautiful carved silver holders and Ron bounded along the wooden top to light each one.

“This is the most excitement we’ve had in ages,” the candelabra explained after seeing the blond’s stunned expression. “Yeah we’re probably going a bit overboard for something as simple as dinner but well, you know.”

Draco blinked. “I guess you wouldn’t have many people around for company…”

Ron snorted, his flames sparking in amusement. “Nah, can’t say we do.” He hopped back down to where Draco was sitting, tilting his waxed face up to the blond. “So what’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yeah.” Ron rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “If you’re going to be staying here with us we should probably know your name don’t you think?”

“Er—well I suppose…” The blond cleared his throat awkwardly. He could not _believe_ he was speaking to a candle. “Draco. My name is Draco.”

Ron fell into a sarcastic bow, smirking up at the blond. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Draco. I am sure you’ll enjoy the wonderfully dank corridors, moody host, and overly excited objects desperate to talk to a new face.”

Draco felt himself relaxing slightly and a small smile appeared on his face. “Has it been long for you?”

The candelabra’s face fell slightly, but his smile remained, even if it did grow a little sad. “Years,” he admitted. “But that’s the thing with curses, isn’t it? Until they’re broken they can last a good long while.”

 _Curse…?_ Before the thought could really sink into the blond’s mind, another voice joined their conversation.

“Enough of this depressing talk,” Hermione chided, hopping up on the table top with a frown. “Here, Draco, have some soup, it’ll warm you up.” She nudged the bowl with her spout before asking Ron to push over the plate of bread.

The blond felt awkward eating in front of objects that had once been witches and wizards, especially when the candelabra gazed at the disappearing food with an expression of such longing it made Draco’s heart ache.

“Don’t you eat?” Draco felt himself asking, his eyebrows drawing together in concern.

“Can’t,” Ron replied with a shrug. “It’s not like we have stomachs anymore.”

The blond had to physically bite his lip to prevent himself from saying anything stupid. There was nothing really for him to add after all, these implements were more than aware of their current form.

“So…” Draco began instead, keeping his tone light, “what was Hogwarts like before—er, before this happened?”

“It was pretty awesome.” Ron grinned, flames flickering. “Of course half the time Hermione, Harry, and I were busy stopping a mad-man who was, and probably still is, intent in taking over the world.”

Draco felt himself go cold. “You’re talking about the Dark Lord…” he murmured, shooting a quick glance to the teapot as she eyed him warily. She nodded.

“Do you know much about what happened between Voldemort and Harry, Draco?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Only that he attempted to kill Potter when he was just a baby. Didn’t work, obviously.”

“But nothing else…?”

“No.” Draco frowned. “Should I?”

“No, no,” Hermione said hurriedly, plastering a smile onto her porcelain face. “Harry and Voldemort’s history is only partly known to the Wizarding World after all. Speaking of which, it’s obvious you did not attend Hogwarts when it was open. Which wizarding school did you attend, Draco?”

“Beauxbatons.”

“Oh, it’s lovely in France, isn’t it.” The teapot sighed blissfully. “I went there over the summer one year with my parents.”

“Yes, it is rather lovely,” Draco murmured in reply, his thoughtful gaze falling to his half-finished dinner. He frowned slightly. It was becoming more and more apparent that whatever had happened here had had something to do with the Dark Lord. The coincidences were becoming too many for it to be anything but chance. After all, his father had been sent here by his lord in order to find out information, had he not?

At the thought of his father, Draco felt the small joy that had been slowly growing within him diminish. His father… his _mother…_ Merlin, he was never going to see either one of them again! Staring down at his food again, Draco discovered he was no longer hungry.

“Goodness me, look at the time,” Percy suddenly exclaimed, pointing to his own face. “It’s about time we all went off to bed!”

The desolate dark dungeon common awaiting him had Draco shivering. Down there, all _alone_ …

“I couldn’t possibly go to bed now,” he stated instead, forcing a smile onto his face. “I wouldn’t mind exploring the castle a little.”

“Oh! How about a tour?” Ron suggested with excitement.

“Ron!” Percy hissed. “I don’t think that is such a good idea.” His gaze swept to Draco who was watching the clock with a sleek blond eyebrow raised in mild amusement. “We can’t have him… wandering about in certain _places_.”

A charming smile stretched across Draco’s face. “Perhaps you would like to direct me? I’m sure you know everything there is to know about the castle.”

Percy’s clock-face coloured. “Er—w-well, yes, I s-suppose I do,” he spluttered. “I suppose a quick tour couldn’t hurt…”

“Well come on then!” Ron beamed. “Let’s get moving.”

Draco looked down at the remnants of his meal. “Um—would you like some help cleaning up?” he asked, feeling awkward as he looked at Hermione.

She chuckled softly. “No, don’t be silly,” she replied. “That’s what we’re here for. Of course, we really have nothing better to do. Off you go! Enjoy your tour.”

The blond didn’t think it would be rather prudent to argue with a teapot so instead he got to his feet, pushed back his chair, and followed the bouncing candelabra and pompous clock out of the room.

“So!” Percy announced, “where shall we begin?”

“I don’t mind,” Draco replied, glancing up and down the dark corridor. Part of him expected Potter to loom out of the darkness at any moment, ready to reprimand him for eating without him.

“Let’s start here, Perce, and work our way up,” Ron suggested, making his flames bigger so they cast more light. “We can show Draco the other levels tomorrow when it’s daytime. The grounds look great when they’re covered in snow.”

“Alright, come along then,” the clock said with a nod, beginning his way down one end of the hallway. Draco followed, his eyes sweeping along the portrait covered walls. The portraits here were just as run down and dirty as the ones he’d passed before. Draco felt his heart sink a little. Everything must have been so beautiful once—nothing like this dark, bitterly cold, haunted shell it was now.

As they neared a flight of stairs, Draco jumped as something soft, squishy, and purring, wrapped itself around his ankle. Looking down, grey eyes widened at the sight of a large fluffy ginger cushion rubbing itself against his leg.

“That’s Crookshanks,” Ron explained with a lopsided grin. “Mione’s cat.”

“Um—”

“Well obviously he’s not so much a cat right now.” Ron positively roared with laughter at the look on Draco’s face, the candle wiping away a shed of wax as if wiping away a tear. “I know, I know, it’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Come along!” Percy called, already halfway up a staircase. “We don’t have all night!”

The cushion-cat was emitting a wonderful radiating warmth and Draco, already fighting off shivers from the icy draft that seemed to constantly drift through the castle, was not at all opposed to cradling the softly purring fluffy oblong in his arms. He plucked Crookshanks up off the floor and settled him into the crook of his elbow, much to the pleasure of the fluffy orange cushion, whose purrs became more intense. Smiling bemusedly, Draco continued up the stairs after his guides, feeling a little more content for the first time since his arrival.

 

 

Two hours and three floors later, Draco could feel his curiosity peaking. The castle seemed to hide an abundance of secrets, but nothing more elusive than the ever evasive comments both Percy and Ron gave whenever something was linked to Potter, especially when it came to his chosen area of seclusion.

Crookshanks had long since grown bored of being carried around and had squirmed out of Draco’s arms some time during their presence along the fifth floor. The blond had quickly succumbed to casting a warming charm on himself to fight the icy chill, already missing the soothing weight of the cushion-cat. They were coming to the end of the sixth floor corridor when Draco spotted a shadowed staircase that Percy had subtly brushed passed.

“What’s up there?” Draco asked.

“Hmm? Oh, up there? Nothing! Absolutely nothing worth seeing up there in the Gryffindor tower,” Ron babbled.

Interest immediately sparked within the blond. “Oh, so _that’s_ Gryffindor tower.”

Percy hobbled over to smack his brother. “Nice going,” he grumbled. His eyes widened as Draco stepped over them, continuing up the stairs.

“I wonder what he’s hiding up there,” the blond murmured.

“Hiding? Harry’s hiding nothing!” Percy yelped, hopping up the stairs after the male.

“Then it wouldn’t be forbidden,” Draco replied, ignoring the tugs he felt on the hem of his robes. He had to stop briefly when Ron stumbled into his way, waving his flaming hands frantically.

“I’m sure there’s something else you’d like to see!” he gasped quickly.

“Yes!” Percy called, “we have exquisite tapestries—”

“Maybe later,” the blond commented, his eyes still trained on the dark corridor at the top of the stairs.

“Or what about the gardens? Or—or the library?”

 _That_ caught Draco’s attention and he looked down, interest dawning on his face. “You guys have a library?”

“Sure do!” Ron replied immediately, his excitement at managing to distract Draco making his flames flare. “With books, lots of books! _Mountains_ of books!”

“Cascades of books!” Percy added, unable to hide the relief on his face as Draco turned around to follow them back down the stairs.

“More books than you’ll ever be able to read in a lifetime!” Ron continued, hopping down the stairs and catching up with his brother.

Distracted as they were, Draco couldn’t help but pause, his gaze flicking back up to the dark corridor. As the two objects marched away happily, the blond slipped silently back up the stairs, curiosity _burning_ within him. If he was going to stuck here in the damned castle, he was well within his rights to see whatever it was that Potter was hiding away.

The corridor was dark. The torches up here, unlike the ones below, did not flare into life when Draco passed them by. Instead, the shadows seemed to grow, casting darkness over a particular wall at the very end of the hallway. The closer Draco approached, the clearer he was able to make out a large gaping hole, ragged bits of grimy golden frame dangling around the edges.

_An entrance…?_

Draco was careful as he entered. He had to duck his head, and he kept his steps light, trying to minimise the noise of him passing through. The room he stepped into was dark, the only light the moon, which poured in through various windows that surrounded Draco in a circular fashion. He stared around in amazement, eyes tracking over the destroyed furniture. Bits of wood, cushion, even parchment and broken quills, lay scattered around and the blond felt his heart sink at the sight.

_How could anyone bear to live in such a depressing mess?_

He stepped further inside, eyes scanning the shadows for possible sign of movement. He was unsure as to where Potter was exactly, but if this tower was his usual haunt, there was a very good chance that Draco would run into him here. That thought did nothing to stifle his curiosity, of course. He was here now, and damned it all if Draco wasn’t going to get a good look to see what all the fuss was about.

Spying a staircase nearby, the blond made towards it, stepping up each stair carefully. The moonlight did not reach as effectively as he’d hoped, and the further Draco climbed, the more he found it rather disorientating trying to measure the size and location of each step as they spiralled around. Each door he passed was locked and no _alohamora_ granted him entrance, which only urged the blond onward. Finally, he came to a fully open door, half the wood hanging from its hinges. Draco stared at it with mild concern before forcing himself to step inside.

The room was circular, tattered remnants of beds and bedside tables strewn across the ragged carpet. It appeared to be a shared dormitory, one that had obviously once homed a few students… and most likely still homed one. Looking about, Draco’s gaze fell on a haphazardly built window. It stretched around half of the tower wall, revealing through the glass a large, what looked to Draco, uneven balcony. The construction was disproportionate, the materials used mismatched. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it had been built by Potter himself. Just as the curiosity to approach the balcony took over, something caught his eye.

Turning, Draco’s gaze landed on a moonlight swathed glass case, something long and thin twirling slowly within. A frown tugged at the blond’s brow as he stepped carefully across the carpet, avoiding broken bits of wood.

It was a _wand_.

 _Potter’s perhaps…?_ Draco thought, nearing the case. It stood on an awfully damaged bedside table by the very edge of the large window, spinning so painfully slowly it was hypnotizing to watch. He reached out an inquisitive hand, fingertips brushing lightly down the cold glass. He couldn’t help but notice that the wand seemed to be in disrepair; it had begun to flake, bits of wood peeling down the elegant sides, some splintered pieces already littering the table top. Lifting aside the case, Draco leant closer, wondering why on earth Potter had—

A shadow fell across him.

Before Draco could even blink, he felt his body being shoved away from the wand, the case slamming down over the top so brutally the glass cracked. The blond stumbled, feeling his heart begin to thump as his eyes landed on Potter’s enraged form.

“Why did you come here,” the dark-haired snarled, eyes glowing wickedly.

Draco could barely feel his legs as he back away, eyes glued to the malevolent figure before him. “I’m sorry, I—”

“I told you never to come here!” Potter’s voice was louder now, his fury making his magic crackle.

“I didn’t mean any harm—”

“Do you realise what you could have _done?!_ ” the brunet roared. His magic lashed out, exploding the already damaged chair lying a few feet away. Not a split second later did a bedside table behind Draco suddenly shatter and the blond felt his terror leap.

“Please stop!” he cried.

“Get out!” Another surge of power. Another piece of furniture reduced to cinders. “ _GET OUT!!_ ”

Draco did.

The blond fled from the room as if his very life depended on it. Judging from the sheer amount of power radiating from Potter at the moment, it probably did. He didn’t stop, not even when Percy called out to him in worry as he flew down the stairs.

“Young sir, please wait!”

“Promise or no promise, I can’t stay here a moment longer!” Draco panted in reply, running full pelt towards the front doors. As if sensing his approach, the doors creaked open, allowing the blond to flee the castle without hindrance. He stumbled down the stairs and onto the snow covered lawn, heart pounding in his throat.

The grounds were so dark Draco could barely see where he was going. Fear pumped through him so viciously he was unable to slow down. Instead he ran blindly across the icy estate, hoping for a familiar sight to lead him to the front gates. His breath was coming out in desperate gasps and he turned with a frantic moan, hoping, _wishing_ to be able to see…

Moonlight streamed down onto the grounds as the clouds suddenly parted and Draco nearly wept with relief. _There._ There were the gates. But, oh god, they were so far away, right on the other side of the—

Something hard, thick, and powerful knocked the wind right out of Draco without any preparation whatsoever. It slammed into him from behind and the blond flew forwards, hitting the ground with a bone shuddering crash despite the blanket of ice cold snow. Draco tasted blood as he rolled onto his back, staring up at what had attacked him. He looked up, alarmed, at the twisting sight of a massive tree implanted before him. The branches waved maniacally, surging through the air with powerful sweeps as the trunk curved, ready to attack Draco again. With a choked gasp, Draco rolled, narrowly avoiding a thick branch as it _slammed_ into the ground mere inches from him.

 _A tree… is attacking me…_ Draco thought numbly. He tried desperately to stagger to his feet but another branch swung out of nowhere, knocking the blond to the side and back onto the ground. Draco’s head connected with the earth painfully and for a few seconds he lay dazedly in the cold, blinking up at the swaying branches. He could only watch with dread as the tree curved again, preparing to strike Draco with a final blow. The blond closed his eyes and waited for the impact with bitter acceptance.

Abruptly, a _crack_ pierced the air, quickly followed by a familiar snarl.

Draco’s eyes flew open and he gawked at the sight of Potter standing over him, one hand clenched tightly around the offending branch. He tossed it away as it was nothing but a twig and Draco could only stare at the strength the young man wielded.

The tree, as if realising the opponent it now faced, began to twist and sway in agitation, more and more branches being flung at the brunet who held his ground, blocking Draco from the shattering strikes. The blond winced at the cracks that pierced the night air— _surely_ that wasn’t the sound of breaking bones?!

Blood splattered the pristine snow, deep gashes appearing on the brunet’s arms as he shielded Draco from the damaging boughs. The cracks suddenly disappeared, the constant onslaught of whipped branches pausing as the tree swung back, gathering speed to slam its thick limbs in a fresh brutalising wave. Potter suddenly flung out a blood stained hand, his eyes positively glowing, and the tree began to slow. The branches’ movement drifted to a halt, the entire tree stilling as the spell the brunet had cast took hold. The tree now frozen, Draco dragged his eyes to the brunet as the young man suddenly staggered. Without warning, Potter’s knees suddenly buckled and the brunet hit the snow in a limp slump. Draco sucked in a breath as he climbed to his feet. Every urge within him was screaming to run—to get away while he could. Potter was down and there was no way of knowing how long he would be out for.

Or if he ever woke up.

The blond swallowed, his gaze sweeping from the brunet to the gates and back.

With a smothered groan, Draco closed his eyes. He knew if he left now, Potter would not survive the cold. _Bloody buggering fuck…_

The next thing the blond knew, he found himself kneeling beside the immobile form of Harry Potter, gently rolling the young man onto his back so he was able to assess his wounds.

_I must be out of my goddamn mind…_

* * *

 

The fire crackled merrily in the grate as Draco pushed a soft cloth through a bowl filled with hot steaming water. Hermione sat beside him, adding a touch more liquid when required, her eyes careful as she looked warily to the huddled form of the brunet curled up in a squishy armchair.

The brunet had regained consciousness just as Draco was lifting him via a hovering charm. Startled, the blond had cancelled the spell without thinking, causing the dark-haired male to hit the snow unceremoniously. With a mumbled apology, Draco had assisted Potter to his feet, pulling an arm around his shoulders, and the brunet, dazed and confused, had allowed Draco to guide him back inside the castle.

Now, Draco was wringing out the warm cloth, knowing it was better to clean the wounds before attempting to heal them. Turning, the blond’s gaze landed on the way Potter was prodding a particular nasty laceration on his arm, nose crinkling as more blood dribbled lazily down his skin.

“Don’t do that,” Draco murmured, knocking the male’s hand away.

Potter fixed him with a vicious glare, yanking his arm away from Draco’s touch.

“Just hold still,” the blond ordered with a frown. Before Potter could stop him, he had placed the hot damp cloth into the injury and the brunet roared in pain, pulling back from Draco before the blond could stop him.

“That _hurts!_ ” Harry snarled.

“If you’d hold still it wouldn’t hurt as much!” Draco snapped back in reply.

For a split second, Harry stared in disbelief at having someone speak back to him in such a manner, before a fresh wave of annoyance caused him to loosen his tongue. “Well if you hadn’t run away, this never would have happened!” the dark-haired beast retorted angrily.

“If you hadn’t _frightened me_ I wouldn’t have run away!”

Potter gaped at the blond before him, outrage on his face. “Well _you_ shouldn’t have been in the Gryffindor tower!”

Draco sneered. “Well you should learn to control your temper.” He watched with mild satisfaction as the anger began to die from the brunet’s eyes, the male slumping back in his chair sulkily. “Now hold still,” the blond continued, voice slightly gentler. “This may sting a little.” He lowered the cloth back down onto Harry’s arm, the male instantly flinching away with a grunt, forcing himself to keep his arm where it was.

“By the way…” Draco began, voice softer still as he dabbed carefully at the wound, “thank you. For saving my life.”

Green eyes flew open, shock evident in their depths. Harry turned to the young man kneeling on the floor before him.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, voice barely a murmur. He watched the blond incline his head in response, silver gaze on the now much cleaner injury.

“I’m not overly competent at healing spells,” Draco admitted, pulling out his wand. “But it will be better than nothing, I suppose.” He carefully tapped the male’s skin, murmuring an incantation and watching at the skin began to loosely knit itself together. The wound didn’t close completely, but Hermione was already nudging rolls of bandages towards Draco who took them in nimble fingers and began to wrap them carefully around Harry’s arm.

Potter remained perfectly still, watching the boy’s movements with a curious frown. It had been so long since he’d had physical contact with another—let alone a _person_ —and he found himself craving more of Draco’s touch.

Harry had thought for sure he’d completely ruined any chance he’d had with the boy after the fiasco in Gryffindor tower. The absolute terror that had been etched upon Draco’s face was forever burned into his memory, and he’d distinguished during that instant that there would never be anything between them. Harry had wanted Draco gone during that moment. He did not care of the curse, did not care that Draco could have been the one to break it. The blond had been petrified of him and Harry had known it was for the best.

But when the wards had sounded that the Whomping Willow was active, the brunet had been surprised by the sheer amount of panic that had shot through him at the idea of Draco getting hurt. He’d disapparated immediately, feeling himself grow enraged at the sight of Draco lying so defeated in the snow.

And now, watching the way the young man tenderly bandages his injuries, offering small smiles and gentle touches, Harry couldn’t stop the small flicker of hope that entered his chest that maybe, just _maybe_ , there could be more between them than he’d originally assumed.

And maybe, _just maybe_ , Harry would be able to learn to feel something aside from anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re probably wondering why on earth I made Neville the oven/stove instead on making him some form of gardening tool. Don’t worry, I had the same problem! But there is no scene where Neville as a gardening tool would have been used and I wanted his character around because I like having him close with the Golden Trio.
> 
> Comments are love!! :D <3


	5. Chapter 5

_December, 18th_

 

The dying embers in the grate flickered feebly while the sleeping blond lay immobile on the couch, face turned towards the fireplace and body huddled beneath a slightly tattered blanket. Draco had been unable to bring himself to search for a proper bed the previous evening as it had been _so late_ by the time he had returned to the Slytherin dorm, instead he had collapsed in an exhausted heap, body wracked with slight tremors as he fought off the chill of the castle. Before he could stop himself, Draco had fallen asleep, not even stirring when Fred and George tossed the blanket over his slumbering form. Draco continued to remain oblivious to the world around him, not even the scrape of stone against stone announcing the addition of a new presence was enough to wake him.

Potter stepped into the common room, his eyes instantly drawn to Draco curled up on the leather couch. He glanced briefly at the dying fire and waved his left hand in a careless gesture, the flames roaring back into life. A small twinge of guilt wormed its way into his chest as he returned his stare to the blond now awash in firelight; it was obvious Draco had moved the couch purposely closer to the hearth. Harry really needed to make more of an effort to keep the castle warmer. He had gotten so used to his friends and himself being unimpeded by the bitter degree level that he hadn’t even considered Draco’s comfort and wellbeing.

It had been a very long time since Harry had concerned himself with another person.

“So, going to try and _not_ scare him this time, eh, Harry?”

The brunet threw an unimpressed glare to the side where Fred and George stood smirking. Unlike the rest of their friends, the always buoyant wardrobe was hardly ever deterred by Harry’s temper tantrums.

“I dunno, Fred, last night _was_ pretty exciting.”

“Most action we’ve had since this curse started.”

“Maybe we could make it a regular thing.”

“Guys, knock it off,” Harry growled.

“Just promise to play nice alright, Harry? We rather like this young bloke. Wouldn’t do any good to scare him off again, you know.”

Instead of replying to the wardrobe, Harry stepped down the few stairs into the common room, eyes fixated on Draco’s sleeping form. Fred and George were right, of course. It wouldn’t do him any good to scare Draco off again. If Harry had _any_ chance to beat this curse he needed to contain his fury and short-temper. He needed to be able to show Draco that there was more to him than raw, damaging emotion…

* * *

Draco was surprisingly warm as he woke. There was a gentle crackle, the familiar sounds of fire caressing his ears. His eyes opened blearily, gaze landing on the large tongues of fire flickering merrily in the hearth and he stared at them in drowsy amazement.

Until he realised he was not alone.

He couldn’t help but stiffen, body going still. Potter was sitting in a tattered armchair close by, looking rather sheepish as he stared down at his bandaged arm, picking idly at loose threads through the gap in his sling.

“Er—good morning?” Draco began, sitting up. He absently noticed the blanket that pooled at his waist as he did so, but with Potter sitting only a mere three feet away, his attention was consumed entirely by his presence.

The brunet’s head shot up, striking green eyes locking with Draco’s who felt a strange bolt shoot through him. For a few seconds, the young men did nothing but simply stare at one another, both at a loss for words. In the darkness of the dungeons, Potter’s skin was almost glowing, and Draco couldn’t help but stare at the striking contrast of blackened veins that spread like vines beneath the skin.

 _Inhumanly beautiful…_ the thought passed through Draco’s mind before he could stop it and he tore his gaze away, feeling his cheeks begin to warm. Much to his pleasure and utmost relief, the awkward silence between them was broken by the now familiar purrs of Crookshanks, who had entered the Slytherin common room just before the stonewall closed again. The fluffy ginger cushion rubbed itself against the couch Draco was sitting on and, with a gentle smile, he leant over to lift it into his lap. Feeling somewhat braver with the purring cushion cuddled close, Draco spoke.

“So…” he began cautiously, lifting his gaze as his hand stroked Crookshanks’ soft and strangely warm, exterior, “how are your injuries?”

Potter seemed startled by the question and his bright green eyes dropped briefly to the bandage on his right forearm.

“Erm, alright,” he replied gruffly. “…thanks,” he added, as an afterthought.

Another awkward silence fell. Draco distracted himself with petting the cushion in his lap, unsure of what else to say. He couldn’t help but wonder why Potter was even down here.

A throat cleared.

“I thought that—maybe—we could start again.”

Draco glanced up in disbelief. Potter looked remarkably uncomfortable and the blond held his tongue, not wishing for a repeat of the previous night.

“I suppose it would be appropriate,” he said in response, eyes drifting to the fireplace, “since it appears that I will be staying here from quite some time.”

The ragged brunet nodded in agreement, clearly missing the irony hidden within Draco’s spoken words. Potter scratched distractedly at his hollowed cheek, the motion drawing Draco’s gaze to the returning shadow of dark facial hair.

“Will you join me—” the young man cleared his throat once more and Draco’s eyes swept up to meet vivid green. “Would you _like_ to join me for breakfast?”

Potter was honestly trying, Draco would give him that. There was no reason for Draco to deny him, especially since the certainty he had had of escaping the night before had now disappeared; Draco wasn’t about to go make the same drastic mistake again of searching through the Gryffindor Tower.

Potter must have taken Draco’s momentary silence for hesitation because the male suddenly pushed to his feet, glaring irritably at the dark stone floor.

“Look, you don’t have to. I just thought—since we’re trying to—well, you know.” He winced, shoving his left hand through his long, tangled curls. “I’m not good at this sort of stuff,” he snapped defensively.

“That’s becoming exceedingly obvious,” Draco chided, but the gentle smile on his face soothed the mock reprimand in his voice. “I’m sorry, I did not mean for my silence to be an answer. Your offer simply surprised me.”

The guarded expression on Potter’s face quickly melted away into relief. His appearance became gentler, a hint of his previously youthful, handsome face peeking through the armoured shadows of his usual façade. Before Draco could blink, the cold harshness had returned, masking Potter’s face with cool indifference.

 _Defence mechanism…_ a soft voice within Draco’s mind murmured. He knew all too well the protection his own masks had fulfilled him in the past.

“I will join you for breakfast,” he offered, eliciting a twittered meow from Crookshanks as his fingers scratched a particular spot on the cushion. “If you don’t mind, I would prefer to bathe beforehand though.”

Potter looked startled, as if the concept of a bath had become entirely foreign to him. Judging from his ragged appearance, Draco was pretty sure it had.

“Er—yeah, sure,” Potter stammered out.

“Yeah!” a voice exclaimed, making Draco jump. He’d forgotten the damn wardrobe was still in the room.

“Harry’s been meaning to scrub up for a while now,” George added with a beaming grin. “Now’s a good excuse as any!”

“George,” Potter growled in warning. His green eyes were blazing again. Both doors snorted in derision.

“Don’t you think it might be nice to show Draco here some effort?”

“You can’t _surely_ expect your guest to dine with someone buried under _years_ of dirt and grime.”

A pained expression passed over Potter’s face as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Draco suddenly felt the need the jump to his rescue.

“It does not worry me,” he voiced, quirking an eyebrow at the wardrobe where both faces grinned in response. “If you would be so kind as to direct me to the bathroom I will endeavour to be quick.” His mind was already working on spells that he could use on his currently clothing—would it be too inappropriate to simply spell the clothes he was wearing clean? At least until he could work out how he was to gain his own wardrobe?

“Don’t you worry, Draco dear!” George proclaimed. “Fred and I will show you to the old prefects’ bathroom while our Harry here goes upstairs to refresh.”

“Ooh! Are we allowed to dress you this time? Please, please, please?” Fred insisted.

A soft smile appeared on Draco’s face. Clean clothes, regardless of where they came from within an enchanted wardrobe, were definitely appealing.

“As long as it’s not anything ridiculous,” he agreed as he stood. He cuddled Crookshanks close once more, nuzzling his nose into the soft tuffs of ginger fur before lowering the purring cushion onto the couch. When he looked up, he caught an odd look of… tenderness...? on Potter’s pale face, before that too, was swept away.

“No time like the present!” George announced pressingly.

The grand wardrobe swaggered towards the entrance, the stone wall grinding as it slid to the side, and Draco quickly followed. The chill that hit him as they stepped out of the Slytherin common room nearly knocked him off his feet. He couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath, the icy air coating the inside of his lungs with an agonising burn as his arms crossed protectively around his chest. A hand quickly sought for his wand, but before his fingers even brush the wood, the torches hung intermittently down the corridor flared into roaring flames and the entire corridor was suddenly awash in delicious warmth.

Draco almost moaned with relief.

“Sorry,” Potter muttered at his side. “I’ll try to remember to keep the castle warmer. The cold doesn’t affect me anymore.”

“Or us,” Fred supplied with a crooked grin. “You know, since we lack skin and all…” He and George sniggered. Draco couldn’t help but eye them warily at the ease in which they accepted their current state.

“We best get a move on!” George announced. “Mione will have us for firewood if we’re late for breakfast!”

“I’ll—erm—see you there then,” Potter said roughly.

Draco turned, meeting his eye. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the way the green irises seemed to sizzle.

“Fred and George will show you the way if you like.”

Draco felt himself nod, his mind aberrantly blank. _Those damn eyes—_

He blinked, watching with an orthodox sense of loss as Potter abruptly turned away in a swirl of material and a snap of his tattered cloak, leaving a bemused Draco to stare after him in bewilderment.

* * *

It was amazing the difference a nice hot bath could make. For the first time since arriving at this godforsaken castle, Draco felt more like himself, which was a blessing in its own right. The robes that had been given to him were soft and warm, falling elegantly around his long legs and draping his shoulders in an attractive dark midnight blue. Beneath his robes he now donned a fresh pair of navy pants, a soft light-blue long-sleeved button down, and grey waistcoat. Dark brown leather boots kept his feet snug and warm and it was with a new sense of purpose that Draco began his way to the same classroom he had eaten in previously, the prospect of dining with Potter not seeming as frightening as before.

The classroom had been set up as it had been before, with two places set at one end of the table. Hermione was hopping along after Ron who was instructing a hovering washcloth as it removed dust and stains from windows Draco hadn’t noticed before.

“Oh, Draco! Good morning!”

“Good morning,” Draco replied, entering the room with a small smile.

“How are you?” Hermione asked.

“Alright, given the circumstances,” he said as he sat himself in the same place as the previous night.

The teapot smiled knowingly at him. “What would you like to drink? We have tea, coffee, and juices of all sorts.”

“Tea, please.”

Another voice suddenly perked up. “Oh! Did someone say tea?” Ginny hopped up onto the table, her porcelain eyes widening with happiness when she spied the blond sitting at the table. “Draco!” she beamed, skidding to a halt before him.

“Hello again,” Draco greeted.

“You’ll use me for your tea won’t you, Draco? Please? Harry never uses me because he prefers _coffee_.” Ginny pulled a face, her handle-shaped nose crinkling strangely before returning to a smooth curve. “I _never_ get to be useful and it’s so _boring_.”

Draco smiled indulgently. “Of course I will,” he promised.

The teacup positively beamed and she bounced happily around Draco’s plate. His smile grew as he watched her for a moment, until the door to the classroom-turned-dining swung open, Potter stalking inside.

Draco glanced up.

And did a double take.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure that the young man he was staring at was his captor. Potter was now dressed in a fresh set of robes, the flowing black material draped over a pair of black slacks and a green sweater. But his hair—oh _Merlin_ , his _hair_ —it was a gentle cascade of soft black snarls, framing his angular face in a thick black curtain which made his emerald eyes positively gleam. His facial hair had been trimmed instead of clean shaven, giving his hollow cheeks a more appreciative depth. Surprisingly, a seeping heat rippled across Draco’s skin and he dropped his gaze quickly, pretending to rearrange his cutlery with an air of indifference. He had to force his eyes upwards when Potter sat down opposite him, not wanting the other young man to feel as if Draco was ignoring him. He opened his mouth to offer a greeting, when Ginny beat him to it.

“Harry!” she cried, hopping across the table.

The conversation between the teacup and the Boy-Who-Lived was tuned out as Hermione came wheeling by on a tray laden with hot food. Draco eyed the meals appreciatively, offering a helping hand where he could. It was still hard to shake the awkward sensation he felt knowing that these implements had once been witches and wizards, regardless of how much they did not seem perturbed by the situation.

Ginny and Potter continued their conversation throughout the meal, the small teacup occasionally admonishing the brunet on his eating mannerisms. It was awkward for Potter to eat with his non-dominant hand since his right was still wrapped in bandages and set in a sling, and Draco expected Potter to lose patience with her, to snap and growl and remind him exactly the type of person Potter had grown to become. It was with a relieved sense of happiness however that Draco observed nothing of the sort.

Perhaps Potter hasn’t entirely lost himself to his rage…

“Promise?” Ginny demanded.

“I promise, Gin,” Potter murmured with a small smile.

Draco watched the interaction with a growing sense of amazement. _There’s something sweet… almost… kind…_ he thought. _He was so mean and coarse before but now… seems kinder, more… unsure…_

“A _hem_.” Ron cleared his throat, throwing Potter a pointed look. “Harry has something he’d like to say. Don’t you, mate?”

Potter blinked, eyes shooting to Draco’s face briefly. “Er—”

The blond lowered his cutlery. His eyebrows pulled together, creasing his brow as he gazed at Potter expectantly.

“I—I just—” Potter cleared his throat, eyes flicking up and down as he fiddled with his knife. “I… thought it would be appropriate for you to send a letter to your father,” he stated gruffly. “To let him know you’re fine. To stop people from looking for you.”

Draco swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “Why would he look for me,” he drawled bluntly. “He knows what happened.” A wince passed over Potter’s face and Draco felt his stomach drop a little.

“Not exactly,” Potter murmured, staring fixatedly at the table top. “The curse does not allow those who leave the grounds to remember. Your father… your father does not retain any memory of what transpired here.”

A tightness was squeezing Draco’s chest. “My father… doesn’t know where I am,” he stated.

“No.” Potter lifted his gaze once more, holding Draco’s eyes with a stare so suddenly penetrating he felt a tremor of fear trickle down his spine. “Unless there is someone else who knows that you came _here._ ”

For a split second, Draco was sorely tempted to lie. His mother knew where he had gone. She would alert his father once Lucius returned home without him. There was a chance he could be _saved—_

At once, that thought process was immediately hushed. Draco had seen for himself the power Potter wielded, there would be no way his parents would be able to save him from his current prison. He wouldn’t be able to risk their freedom…

“My mother knows,” he answered finally, staring glumly at his half-eaten breakfast. “I will write them. Tell them to—to s-stay away.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Thank you, Draco.”

The blond nodded his head, keeping his gaze lowered. The miniscule flare of contentment that had appeared only moments before was gone now, replaced with the despondent reminder of everything he had given up. But he had saved his father and that was the most important thing. Merlin knows the state in which Lucius would be now if he continued to remain in that freezing cold cell. And his mother had been so _distraught_ —

“Here, Draco,” Ginny piped up, hopping over to his side of the table. “Have some tea. Mione?”

“Coming,” the teapot replied.

When Draco next glanced up, Potter was receiving a whispered reprimand from Ron, his three flames flaring with each jab of an accusing candle, like a finger to the chest. A look of guilt passed over Potter’s face and he rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand.

“ _You really need to put more of an effort in, Harry_.”

Potter inclined his head in agreement, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. Draco drew in a small sharp intake of breath and turned to look elsewhere, deciding upon Ginny who was now brimming with gently streaming tea.

 _It should be against the law for a captor to be so visually appealing…_ Draco thought sourly. _Although… they do say that fear is a potent aphrodisiac…_

Shovelling some scrambled egg into his mouth to prevent his snort, Draco forced himself to focus on his breakfast and _not_ the other male currently sitting across from him. But then Potter cleared his throat pointedly, and Draco’s eyes were immediately drawn to forest green orbs.

“I thought perhaps, if you would like, to join me for a walk around the grounds later today?” the brunet asked hesitantly. “The lake is rather… spectacular during the winter.”

Draco swallowed his current mouthful, reaching for Ginny to take a small sip of tea to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

“That sounds… nice,” he replied. He watched, surprised, when Potter’s face suddenly brightened, a faint red blush ghosting across pale cheeks, hidden almost imperceptibly by dark facial hair. Draco found a sudden urge to rapidly change the subject. “I… is there a preferred method of how I should send my letter?”

Potter’s eyes darkened ever so slightly and he nodded. “I have an owl,” he stated. Fingers tangled into black waves as the young man shoved his hair off his face. “I will give you privacy whilst you write your letter and promise not to read it… however I will warn you not to try and trick me, Draco. It will not do you any good to attempt to bring anyone here.”

“I am more than aware of that,” Draco replied dryly. “Believe me when I say I would not wish this upon anyone.”

Potter had the good grace to appear sheepish and, while Draco was prepared for a growled threat in response, he was once again taken aback by the response.

“Your decision to take your father’s place was admirable, Draco,” he murmured. “I promise to do my best to make your stay here as comfortable as I can.”

The blond swallowed around the growing lump his throat. He took another sip of tea before answering.

“Thank you, Harry.”

* * *

“Lucius.”

“I know, my love,” the tall blond murmured in reply.

Narcissa was still staring dejectedly at the spot where the house elf had vanished. The summons from the Dark Lord was not uncommon, but with the ever-growing impatience of Voldemort’s desire to see Draco and no answer to give, it would not be long until the Dark Lord lost him temper. With Lucius altered memory, the male truly had no clue as to what had happened to his son. The information his wife had provided him had offered a small clue as to where Draco may be, but they could not say for sure as to whether he was indeed at Hogwarts, since Lucius had no recollection of ever _seeing_ his son. Any possible chance they had had of looking for him had ended in no sign, not even a whisper of his presence.

A soft gasp from Narcissa had Lucius looking up, his grey eyes drawn to the impossibly white owl that was perched on the railing of their bedroom balcony, staring in through the window with intense amber eyes. In its claws was a scroll of parchment. The Malfoy patriarch was across the floor in mere moments to open the window, reaching for the scroll. As soon as the parchment was within his grasp, the owl soared away into the sky, leaving Lucius to blink after it in amazement.

“What does it say, Lucius?”

The blond turned to his wife, unfurling the letter in his hand. He felt his stomach jolt.

“It’s from Draco.”

Narcissa uttered a soft cry, her hand fluttering to her throat as she hurried to his side to read over his shoulder.

 

_Father and Mother,_

_Firstly, pleased be rest-assured that I am safe. I realised that you both must be beside yourself with worry, however I promise that I am, and will remain, safe where I currently am._

_Now to the purpose of my letter. It was brought to my attention that Father will have no recollection of what has passed. Due to Mother’s knowledge of where I went that evening however, it was suggested to me to write an explanation and a plea for you not to look for me._

_On the night in question, Father, you did indeed travel to Hogwarts. Your presence was not welcome however, and you were jailed in a tower cell. When you did not return home, I made the decision to come find you. Upon my arrival and discovering where you were, I was offered an ultimatum. I was either to leave and never return, condemning you to your inevitable death, or take your place and send you home to safety._

_Obviously, I chose the latter._

_I currently reside here at Hogwarts with the Boy-Who-Lived and I fully accept my decision to take your place and ride out the sentence. I am fortunate in ways you would not have been so please do not worry for me. I am treated kindly, I promise._

_I must ask you not to come for me. There is no telling what Potter may do if outsiders were to approach. I would rather you not risk the danger. No one must know where I am_ .

_I am sorry that it has come to this but regardless, if given the choice again, I would still choose to take your place, Father._

_I love you both dearly and miss you terribly._

_Please do not worry for me.  I will be all right._

_Your loving son,_

_Draco._

 

Lucius did not need to lift his head to know his wife currently had silent tears streaming down her cheeks. His own heart was wrought with sorrow—yet _another_ sacrifice he had to undergo for the mad creature he served so willingly. His own _son_ had been condemned… and for what?

He cleared his throat. “Do not fear for him, Cissy,” he murmured gently, turning to face her. He cupped her tear-streaked cheek, thumbing her skin soothingly. “Draco says he is fine and we should believe him. And let us be honest, he is most likely safer there than he is here.”

The reminder that Lucius’s presence was still expected by the Dark Lord was suddenly heavy in the air. Narcissa dabbed delicately at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief as she nodded.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “I would prefer him away from the Dark Lord for as long as we are able. Perhaps, if he is allowed, Draco will continue to send us letters.”

“Perhaps,” Lucius replied. He handed her the scroll. “I must go see Him now, Cissy. Keep this safe and secure.”

She nodded, holding the parchment close to her chest. Her heart ached as she watched her husband leave the room.

_What she wouldn’t give to have her family free of that mad-man…_

* * *

The walk around the grounds had been more enjoyable than Draco originally anticipated. Whether this had anything to do with Potter’s calmer nature, or perhaps it was the fact that his object friends had joined them, Draco couldn’t be sure but he was grateful all the same. His short time at Hogwarts so far had been a whirlwind of emotions and stress, and Draco was certainly ready for some form of normality.

After a while, Draco was coerced by Fred and George into a snowball fight. Of course, it wasn’t so much an amicable decision of snow-war than the wardrobe deciding that a lump of snow would look spectacular powdering over freshly washed blond hair, but Draco was never one to back down from a challenge.

Or revenge.

Whatever.

Draco’s laughter carried across the snow-covered ground, igniting something forgotten within Harry as he watched the blond protect a worried Crookshanks from erratic snowballs. His gaze fell to his bandaged arm, a warmth growing in his chest as he stroked the material almost tenderly.

“I’ve… never felt this way about anyone,” he admitted, voice barely a growl. He looked up. “I want to do something for him,” he stated determinedly, before his face suddenly fell. “But what?” he asked, turning to look at Percy.

“Well…” the pompous clock began, “there’s the usual things of course, flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep…”

Ron snorted. “No, no, Perce,” he interjected, “it has to be something special. Something that will catch his interest, you know?” The candelabra suddenly gasped, a wide grin splitting his wax face. “Wait a minute!!” He turned excitedly to Harry who watched him warily. “I know just the thing!”

* * *

“Do I really?”

At Draco’s annoyed huff, Harry felt his smile widen.

“Yes.”

The blond kept his eyes closed but made sure he retained a pout on his lips as he allowed Potter to direct him forwards. He tried hard not to focus on how warm Potter’s hands were… nor did he consider how very comforting his touch was. The strength in Potter’s fingers alone definitely had _no_ impact on Draco.

At all.

“So, what is this all about?” Draco asked, trusting the other male not to let him fall.

“I want to show you something,” Harry replied. The doors behind him parted with a creak and he drew Draco further into the darkness. “Keep your eyes closed. It’s a surprise.”

They walked a few steps, Draco’s curiosity beginning to peak. He could hear nothing to give away their current surroundings, however, there was a distinct and familiar scent that tickled his nostrils. It was a soothing scent, one that he knew he was familiar with but could not quite place.

He expelled another impatient but good-natured sigh. “Can I open them?”

“No, no, not yet,” Harry replied. He carefully released Draco’s hands. “Wait here, alright?”

Draco supposed he should be somewhat wary of what Potter seemed to have in store for him… but it was hard not to be infected with the other male’s excitement. Ever since their walk had come to an end, Potter had been positively buzzing, his eyes alight with pleasure and exhilaration. Unsure as to what had made the Boy-Who-Lived so worked up, Draco hadn’t argued when Potter announced he had something to show him. Until, that was, Potter requested he close his eyes.

He flinched suddenly as an unexpected source of light fell across his face. He could hear the rustling of curtains and the smell of disturbed dust. Well, at least wherever they were, it apparently had windows. More rustling, the darkness ebbing away until Draco could tell he was practically bathed in sunlight.

“ _Now_ can I open them?” he asked.

“Alright… now.”

Draco’s eyes parted and his lips fell open in a small silent gasp. He stared around in amazement, taking in the hundreds and hundreds of books that lined the walls, displayed impressively on massive shelves. Rows seemed to stretch on forever, disappearing into shadows that the sunlight could not reach. And all the while Draco could feel his excitement growing. His love for books was second to none, and here Harry had brought him, introducing him to the one safe-place he figured would make Draco happy.

_How on earth had he known…?_

“Do—Do you like it?” Harry asked hesitantly. His left hand fiddled nervously with his bandage and he watched Draco with slightly guarded eyes.

The blond turned a relieved smile to him, feeling the most comfortable in the castle for the first time since his arrival.

“It’s perfect,” he murmured in reply. “I love it. Thank you.”

Potter’s eyes glowed as he smiled in response, the tension draining from his shoulders. “Then it’s yours,” he announced.

Draco stilled. “Mine?”

Potter’s smile grew as he nodded. “All yours. You may come here whenever you wish, read whatever you desire.”

Uncontained, pure elation erupted within the blond and, before he could catch himself, he flung his body forwards, wrapping his arms around Potter and hugging the other male tightly. He felt Potter stiffen slightly, the contact obviously unexpected, but after a second his body began to relax and a tentative arm encircled around Draco’s waist.

“Thank you so much,” Draco gasped out.

Watching smugly from the doorway, Ron and Percy shared a knowing look. Hermione uttered a soft adoring sigh, and Ginny smirked.

Perhaps forging a relationship between the two of them would not be as hard as they initially considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEEEEEW. Finally an update! Ahaha only took me almost a year. Dear lord what a wild ride the past 340 days have been. I promised I would continue, regardless how long it may take me. Thank you to EVERYONE who has commented such encouraging words <3 you are all so wonderful and you are honestly the reason as to why I am able to keep going!!
> 
> Comments and Kudos very much appreciated! Xx


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